


where do we go and where does it end

by intothefirewego



Series: when our hearts collide, i hope our world is a kaleidoscope [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Feels, Attempt at Humor, Canon Era, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Insecurity, Introspection, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), arthur doesn't understand emotions, minor morgwen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothefirewego/pseuds/intothefirewego
Summary: Merlin is hiding until he realizes that he can't, and Arthur is hurting until he realizes that he doesn't have to be.part 3 of the soulmate AU series where you see in color only when you see your soulmate's eyes, and only that color. this probably won't make a ton of sense unless you read the other two parts first((title taken vaguely from "into the unknown" by the blasting company from "over the garden wall"))
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: when our hearts collide, i hope our world is a kaleidoscope [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595821
Comments: 91
Kudos: 919





	1. a lesson in delaying the inevitable

Small colors, imperceptible almost, began to leak into Merlin’s life—a snatch of a muted purple blanket, a dull blur of green when Merlin looks towards the trees, a splash of dim yellow in the daisies brought to Gaius by a thankful baker’s wife.

Naturally, the sky was still blinding, and the reflection of it in the well was equally so. Merlin had never had the chance to look at himself in a mirror before, as Ealdor was too rural and simple to have many, but with the splendor of Camelot, Merlin could see his face everywhere. Enough to know, that is, that his own eyes were blue. Somewhere in the castle right now, Arthur was probably shuttering the windows, trying to avoid seeing the blue of the sky so as to not be reminded of his mistake of a soulmate. Merlin knew that he should not be allowed that luxury, as it was his mistake to come to Camelot in the first place. 

He punished himself by staring out at the lakes, at the sky, at the water in the well. This was Arthur’s legacy, and as much of a legacy that Merlin would ever get from him, if he had any say in the matter.

Merlin almost saw Arthur one day, as the prince burst into Gaius’s chambers and demanded that he help him bandage his arm. Merlin, thanks to whatever deity still pitied him, was in his room when he heard Arthur’s tenor voice ring out in the cramped space of Gaius’s workshop.

“Gaius!” His soulmate called. Merlin knelt and peeked through the crack in the wood of his door to find Arthur cradling his arm to his chest. Merlin barely caught himself from making a move forward, his instincts propelling him to tend to his injured soulmate. The aborted move forward knocked the stool by Merlin’s door to the floor. Merlin’s skin flushed hot as a whispered word flew from his mouth and righted the stool again. He stopped his breathing and peeked out from the gap in the wood again. Arthur had frozen.

“Gaius?” He called again, moving towards the door.

Oh no. Oh lord.

For a brief, hysterical, uncontainable second, Merlin thought about revealing himself. It would be so easy. Open the door. See Arthur’s eyes up close again outside of dreams. What would Arthur do? Would he be excited? Happy? Or would his face contort in rage, his hands balling into fists, his voice raising in volume until Merlin’s bones rattled with the sound of his ire?

_Would it matter?_

Merlin would do anything to touch him, to hold him, even if Arthur hated him, even if Arthur never wanted to see him again, he just needed to—

No.

_No_.

Merlin was doing this _for_ Arthur. Arthur couldn’t be happy with Merlin, Arthur deserved to have a soulmate he could love openly and without fear. Merlin would rather die than subject Arthur to the same fear that he lived under in Uther’s kingdom. His father would destroy him and Merlin would not touch a single hair on Arthur’s head. He couldn’t afford to spread his curse to someone he was fated to love.

But Arthur was still advancing to the door. Merlin needed to get away. He stumbled back from the door, catching a glimpse of Arthur’s bright— _too bright, too blue_ —eyes as he fell back. Gaius’s voice suddenly permeated the room beyond.

“Sire? What are you doing here?” 

Arthur’s footsteps stopped. “Oh,” He said the word simply. “Gaius, there you are. I thought I heard…never mind.” His footsteps retreated. The two fell into discussion as Merlin’s head hammered in his chest. Once his heart rate had slowed to a reasonable pace, Merlin caught a bit of the conversation.

“Sire, you should stop pushing yourself so hard.” Gaius paused. “May I speak out of turn?”Arthur made a noise of affirmation so Gaius continued. “The last time you pushed yourself this hard in training was after our discussion of soulmates and I—“ Arthur’s voice cut him off, quick, sharp, and cold.

“What are you implying?”

Gaius did not speak for a second.

“I know you are upset. You don’t need to punish yourself for what others do to you.” Gaius said at last. The conversation stopped abruptly in the silence after. The only noise at all was Gaius rustling through his drawers looking for something. _A splint for the arm_ , Merlin’s mind supplied helpfully, but Merlin himself was far away.

“I do if I’m the reason.” Arthur said, quietly. Merlin’s vision blurred as hot tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. Gaius said something, but Merlin could not hear it, he couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t feel anything. He covered his mouth with both hands as a noise bubbled up in his throat, unbidden. Merlin was wretched. He could give nothing but pain to this man.

That day, Merlin came to a resolute decision: he would stay away from Arthur Pendragon for the rest of his life. Leaving Camelot was preferable, and should have been very simple. Merlin didn’t have any responsibilities in Camelot, he only had Gaius in terms of friends. But as he had packed his bag and stood on the wooded path heading away from the castle, he found that he couldn’t do it.

He could feel his magic buzzing frantically beneath his skin, itching, burning. 

Stay stay stay _staystaystay_ , it seemed to beg. Merlin had never felt it react this way. His magic only ever seemed to be this close to bursting from his skin when he was in danger—as if he were simply an outlet for the magic inside of him and it would erupt when it needed to.

Merlin was and could never be afraid of his magic. One cannot be afraid of one’s own shadow, after all, but feelings this intense frightened him.

“Please stop,” Merlin whispered to himself, hand tightening on the strap of his bag. “You’re the part of me that Arthur can’t love, you don’t get to make me stay.” 

The wind rustled through the leaves above him, and with it, he could hear a whispered, “ _Merlin_.” 

Merlin whipped around, eyes scanning his surroundings. The path leading out of Camelot was empty at this time of night, and fires burned in the windows of the castle upon the hill. 

“Who’s there?” Merlin called.

It turned out, of all things, to be a dragon. Because apparently, Camelot’s castle had more than just skeletons and beautiful un-haveable princes in its shadowed corridors. This week just must have made Merlin numb, Merlin had decided as he stared up at the chained dragon. Sobbing his lungs out every night had made his emotional measuring stick essentially useless. The shock and pain of finding and then losing his soulmate must have numbed him to new phenomena, because finding the supposedly dead Great Dragon didn’t make Merlin feel incredibly much of anything.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time, young warlock.” The Dragon informed him. Merlin _hmm_ ed noncommittally, and adjusted his hold on the torch in his hand. It was so heavy. Or maybe, Merlin had just gotten weaker.

Weak. Pathetic. _Useless_.

“I’ll admit, I was expecting…more.” The Dragon said, and Merlin could imagine him cocking an eyebrow that he did not have.

“I’m a very good disappointment. I do it all the time.” Merlin said, a tad rueful. The Dragon merely blinked back at him, unimpressed.

“I see you have already messed up your prophecy, then.” The Dragon said, and now the prick had the audacity to sound bored. Merlin’s apathy bubbled into irritation.“I’m sorry, why did you call me down here? Into your…cavern?” Merlin gestured with the torch in his hand. “Don’t misunderstand me, it’s a very lovely cavern, but I have plans tonight, and you spouting mysterious words at me was not on my list of things that I wanted to do.” Merlin thumped his rucksack at his feet for emphasis. The Dragon looked at it with surprise, and, ignoring everything Merlin had just said, asked,

“You are leaving Camelot?”

Merlin rolled his eyes.“Yes. Tonight.” The Dragon’s eyes sparked with interest. A slow, pleased smirk crawled its way up the Dragon’s maw. 

“Fleeing from your royal other half, I presume?” He asked. Merlin didn’t have the energy to inquire how the Dragon knew that. He said nothing, instead. The Dragon didn’t seem to expect a response, however, as he barked a laugh and continued.

“That’s a shame, young warlock. The boy Arthur truly is going to die tonight, then.” A shock of feeling wormed its way into Merlin’s chest, and he felt white-hot, explosive. He took a step forward and kicked his rucksack out of the way.

“Is that a threat, Dragon?” His voice was dangerous and low, unrecognizable to his own ears. The Dragon barked out another laugh, but Merlin’s roiling stomach prevented him from seeing the humor in this.

“Not from me, boy. The Lady Helen is in Camelot tonight. She is going to give a performance to the king and his son that Arthur is not soon to remember and Uther will never forget.”

“He will be protected by the knights, surely?” Merlin’s voice was a rasp.

“Not from her magic, young warlock. Only your power can stop her. She seeks retribution for her son’s death. You, I believe, witnessed his execution.” 

Merlin’s mind was racing. It would be hard to forget the violence he witnessed on his first day in Camelot, however overshadowed it was by meeting Arthur. Meeting, perhaps, was the wrong word, but Merlin batted the thought away. Merlin tried to remember if the castle had been preparing for a visitor, but Merlin had not left his room in days. It was definitely plausible. It could be the case. Merlin felt the information slot into place in his mind.

Arthur was in danger. Merlin’s magic could save him. Something about a prophecy. The Dragon was cryptic. Merlin needed to move.

Merlin jerked into motion, stumbling back and gathering his things. He pointed at the Dragon as he left and said, “I will be back and you will tell me about this prophecy.”Merlin was thundering up the stairs, heart in his throat as he heard the dragon cackle and call after him,

“Yes, half, run to your other!” 


	2. a lesson in trying to stay the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur can't handle his thoughts and Merlin's insides combust.

Hours earlier, Arthur was sitting in Morgana’s chambers, tapping his fingers in a faint rhythm on the polished wood of her dining table. His stomach had been in knots for days, and his heart had been heavier in his chest than it had been in years. 

Eating was a chore, waking up was a chore, breathing and talking and working was a chore in a world in which he was unlovable.

Arthur slammed the heel of his palm against the side of his head to jar the thought away.

Stop. _Stop it_.

Arthur wondered if his soulmate thought about him at all. About the carnage he left behind. The years of fear that Arthur had crawled out of, waiting for his soulmate, only his soulmate, _only ever_ his soulmate were gathering around Arthur’s ears. The muted colors he left in his wake were small recompense for the pit that Arthur had found himself in.

He could fear the cold prickle of loneliness that Arthur had not allowed himself to feel in years wrap its cold fingers around the back of his neck.

  
Arthur felt a little like a room after a bout of laughter—more cavernous, emptier, more hollow and colder than it had been before. You didn’t notice the emptiness of the room until you had something to fill it, even if it had only been filled for a second. 

Morgana looked up from the place at her vanity. 

“Are you trying to beat some sense into that head of yours?” She asked dryly. “I’m afraid that that little task is an effort in futility.”

Her lips were curled into a smile and her eyes danced with mirth, but Arthur felt the blow of her words land regardless.

_Senseless_.

Arthur had no sense and his soulmate was gone and Arthur was unwanted, _again_.

The look on his face must have been a fright, because Morgana’s smile fell. Her brows got that little divot in the center that meant she was thinking hard about something. Arthur knew to look out for that divot, because it always meant something bad for him. Uther yelling at him, punishment, embarrassment.

Arthur wondered if Morgana knew that her schemes always got Arthur on the wrong side of Uther’s rage. Morgana, who had lived under Uther’s guardianship almost as long as Arthur had sure known of the depth of Uther’s anger sometimes. Wait. Did Morgana receive the same treatment as Arthur by Uther’s hand? 

Arthur felt a fierce and unpredicted swell of protectiveness in his chest as he watched his nearly sister search his face for signs of distress. 

A knock resounded through the room and Gwen entered, carrying a swath of yellow daisies in her arms.

“Morgana, I gathered—oh!”

She froze at the sight of Arthur and ducked into a quick curtsy.

“Your Highness, I didn’t know you would be—I-I mean, not that it’s not great to see you. In—In a totally professional way of course. I only meant—“

Gwen’s face was flushing. Arthur tried to summon a kind look on his face—summoning any kind of positive emotion at the moment was proving difficult—and said,

“No need, Guinevere. I’m glad to see you, too.” 

Gwen smiled, then her face lit up.

“Oh, right!” 

She moved across the room to Morgana and held out the flowers. 

“I gathered these for you.” 

Morgana’s back was to Arthur, but he could see her face shift to a glowing expression in the mirror.

“Oh, Gwen, these are absolutely lovely!” She exclaimed. Gwen flushed deeper at the praise.

“Be careful there, Morgana,” Arthur said, “Any more praise and Gwen will look like a strawberry.” 

Morgana and Gwen both froze at the same time. They gave each other a significant look that Arthur couldn’t interpret.

“What?” He asked. He should have known that the jab sounded fake. He was trying so hard to perform as his usual self that he must have miscalculated somewhere. If Arthur couldn’t even insult Morgana properly in his soulmate’s wake, Arthur would be adrift.

“Oh, nothing,” Morgana said breezily, turning back to her vanity and jars of rogue. Gwen crossed the room and opened the crockery cabinet—most likely looking for a vase in which to put the flowers. Arthur let it slide. After a couple of seconds of watching Morgana apply her powders in silence, Arthur spoke up again.

“So why, again, did you ask me into your chambers? Not that watching you put on your rogue isn’t thrilling, but…"

Arthur trailed off meaningfully. Morgana perked up.

“Oh, yes!” She said, and stood up. She walked over to her wardrobe and began searching its contents. She dashed colorful fabrics out of the way, and Arthur wondered if Morgana had always been wearing such colorful dresses, and Arthur just couldn’t see them.

“As you know, Lady Helen is the best singer in the kingdom.” She said, her voice muffled behind layers of silk and velvet. 

“So we’ve been told,” Arthur responded, shooting for an air of boredom. From the sharp look Morgana cut over her shoulder, he had succeeded.

“I want to look my best to impress such an important woman,” Morgana continued. She finally pulled out a long red dress from the depths of her wardrobe. She quickly crossed the room and opened her jewelry box. Gwen, now having finished putting the flowers in a vase, moved to Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur gave Gwen an exasperated look and she shrugged fondly, a warm smile on her face as she watched her mistress.

The wheels in Arthur’s brain began to turn. Something was…off between them.

“You still haven’t answered my question, M—“

Morgana whipped around, a giant blue jewel dangling off of a silver chain hanging in her fist. Arthur blinked. The blue was light and insubstantial—nothing like the color of _his_ boy's eyes. Morgana held up the dress to her front and put the diamond next to her neck.

  
“I want to look my most presentable,” Morgana said with emphasis. “I wanted your opinion on my outfit. I would like my ornaments to match my dress.” 

Arthur gaped at her.

  
“You invited me into your room two hours before one of the most anticipated feasts of the year to ask me about your _dress_?”  
  


He hoped that his disdain and incredulity was apparent in his voice. Arthur was too emotionally and physically exhausted to do this. This was so out of Arthur’s area that Arthur longed for the days when Morgana would have him take rats out of her room. Morgana seemed unmoved. 

  
“Yes. Do they go together?”  
  


“What? Morgana, I am one of the most decorated fighters that the kingdom has ever seen. Do you really think that I have the time to worry about your jewelry? I am—“  
  


“Do they go together?” Morgana demanded, her eyebrows drawn together in frustration. She shook the fabric in her hands. Arthur would prefer the rat.  
  


“Morgana—“  
  


“Do they?”

“I refuse—“

“Do they go together?” Morgana demanded. 

“What—“

“ _Arthur!_ ”  
  


“No! Gods above, Morgana! They don’t match!” Arthur exploded, slamming his hands on the table.

Morgana threw the dress to the floor and _thwap_ ed the jewel onto the table.

“A-HA!” She crowed. Arthur jumped in surprise, and the legs of his chair hit the stone of the floor in a mighty _crack._ Morgana leveled a triumphant talon at Arthur’s chest.

“What are you—“ Arthur began, irritation clear.

“Soulmate!” She crowed, smiling wide and victoriously. “I knew it!” 

All of the fight left Arthur in a rush. Arthur’s skin felt hot and itchy, but his nerves felt like ice. He looked to Gwen. She was gaping at him, her eyes wide. 

“Wha—How—…” Arthur sputtered violently. “No!” Morgana simply grinned at him. 

“No!” He repeated, this time with more panic in his tone than he hoped to convey. Morgana crossed the room to sit across from him at the table.

“This is wonderful news, Arthur!” She enthused, reaching across the table and grabbing at Arthur’s hands. Arthur’s heartbeat in his ears were too loud for him to make out most of the words she was saying. Her ruby-red lips were moving, but a buzzing had taken a residence in the back of Arthur’s skull.

“Arthur?” Morgana prodded, the gentler tone of the inquiry making Arthur’s brain quiet for a second. Morgana smiled. “Why do you look like a spooked horse? Scared your soulmate away already, have you?” 

A high-pitched whine made Arthur’s head pound as his veins shot through with ice so quickly it made the room spin. _She meant it as a jest, she meant it as a jest, she meant it as a jest_ , Arthur tried to reason over and over again but his heart wasn’t listening. 

“Arthur?” Gwen reached a warm hand out to Arthur’s shoulder, and it was too much, too much, _too much_.

“I-I’ve got—“ Arthur yanked his hands from Morgana’s grip and shouldered past Gwen’s sympathetic touch, ignoring the look of hurt that flashed across their faces. He stumbled back, head spinning. “I’ve got to go.” 

Arthur couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, Arthur was choking, _he was_ —!

Morgana stood up and was able to cross the room and hold Arthur’s arm before he was able to blink. The world was moving too fast or too slow, or too…something. 

“Arthur, breathe with me, please.” Morgana encouraged and Arthur came to the realization that he was sitting on a bench. How did he get here? Did Morgana—?

Arthur matched his breathing with Morgana’s slow inhales and exhales, and felt his heart rate slow. Morgana’s chambers slowly came back into clarity as he felt the last bit of tension leave his shoulders. Arthur should have been mortified as he leaned into Morgana’s side hug, but he was too tired to feel anything but empty.

“Arthur,” Morgana said, shooting a not-subtle look at Guinevere. “You don’t have to tell us what that was about, but we’re concerned about you, and we’re here.”

Arthur sighed, a big, heavy sigh that hurt his lungs when he breathed in. He leaned out of Morgana’s hold. Uther had drilled into Arthur over and over and over again that a good leader relied only on himself. Emotion and dependence was a sign of a leader ill-equipped to rule. If Arthur could control nothing else in his life right now, he would try to control that.  
  


“It’s not worth discussing.”

Morgana gave Arthur a skeptical look, a protest clearly on her tongue.

“Really, Morgana, it’s not something I’m going to discuss.” 

Arthur tried to look at Guinevere for assistance, but the maidservant looked quickly away. Arthur’s brain started to clear a bit.

“Wait.” He said, struggling to put the pieces together before him. “How did _you_ know what color the dress was?” 

Arthur pulled back farther to look at Morgana’s stricken face. Her wide, blue eyes ( _ blueeyesblueeyesblueeyesArthurknewblueeyes _ ) suddenly unable to look at Arthur’s face. She sent a pleading look to Guinevere, who simply smiled sadly. Gwen approached the bench and held out her hand. Morgana’s pale hand, shaking, took it. They intertwined their fingers and looked at Arthur, waiting.

Arthur’s brain whirred. It clicked.

Oh.

_Oh_.

“Oh.” Arthur said, lamely, looking back between Morgana’s anxious face, Gwen’s serene one, and their interlocked fingers. 

“I—me. I mean, mine too.” Arthur finished, wincing. He wasn’t very good at this. He hoped the earnestness on his face showed, however. He met their gazes fully, looking back and forth between them meaningfully.

_I understand. It’s okay._

Gwen and Morgana gave each other a look, then Morgana’s face split into a brilliant smile. She turned her shining eyes to Arthur, whose heart hurt a little at the relief he found there. Was Morgana _that_ afraid of him? 

Was Arthur really just another Uther—cold, haughty, rude, prejudiced? 

Was that all anyone saw when they looked at him? High brow, frowning mouth, crushed with the weight of everyone else’s perceived sins and unwilling to bend?

Arthur felt very cold and lonely, and longed once again, foolishly and against his nature, for the boy in the staircase. 

“I suppose I don’t have to ask you not to tell Uther, then?” Morgana teased, and Arthur pointedly did not look at her thumb lovingly skimming over Gwen’s knuckles because it made his heart ache in a girly fashion.

“Only if you don’t,” Arthur said, trying to land for levity. Gwen snorted a laugh, and Arthur looked at her. Then Morgana. Then back. And the three of them burst out laughing at the same time, and Arthur didn’t know if he was actually finding anything about this humorous or if he was just desperate to feel their joy.

It didn’t end up mattering, for Arthur’s heart felt so light for a second, surrounded by the warmth of companionship and camaraderie. Arthur wanted to live in this second indefinitely, an observer of unconquerable love, even if he would never be able to feel it.

~

The banquet was in full swing when Merlin finally bounded up the stairs, out of breath. 

Great, swelling music and muffled laughter echoed behind the closed doors of the banquet hall, and the guards standing in front the door gave Merlin an unimpressed look. Merlin’s back straightened, and he tried to slink off to the side, hoping that he would be able to find an alcove where he could observe the party.

“Hey!” A gruff voice barked, and Merlin’s heart kicked into overdrive as he froze. He slowly turned. The guard on the left side of the door, closest to Merlin gave him a once-over. “Servants’ entrance is that way.” The guard pointed down the other end of the hall. Merlin laughed, a little too high.

“Yes!” He said, and scurried in that direction, hoping that his speed would convince the guards of the innocence of his intentions. Merlin rounded the corner in a near sprint and nearly avoided running into a stressed looking serving maid. 

“Oh, finally, are you Thomas’s replacement?” She asked, big brown eyes pleading. Despite her small frame, she was holding three large trays laden with food. Merlin was surprised that she hadn’t snapped in half.

“I—uh—“

She handed Merlin a tray without waiting for his response and swept through a door to Merlin’s left with no hesitation. Merlin eyed the food on his tray. It didn’t look lavish enough to be for the king or… _his son_ , so Merlin’s luck was looking up a little bit. 

All he had to do was keep his head down, and he would be able to keep an eye on Arthur for whatever the dragon had warned about. Merlin ducked through the door the maid had gone through and was absorbed by the cacophony of sound and the warmth of the banquet hall.

Merlin couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning the room immediately, looking for the glow of golden hair and the tan of his soulmate’s skin. It wasn’t hard to find him. The room burst into exaggerated color as soon as Merlin’s eyes landed on him.

Arthur sat at the right hand of his father. The imposing chair the boy sat in was ornate and the outfit he wore was fine—finer than anything Merlin would ever have, anyway. Uther was in the middle of speaking, something about peace and prosperity, but Merlin couldn’t be bothered to listen. Merlin absentmindedly distributed food to where it looked like it went and placed the empty tray against the wall, trying to take his eyes off of Arthur as little as possible. Arthur’s eyes were piercing, scanning the room briefly—no where near Merlin, thankfully—before falling back to his goblet. His jaw was set, and his golden eyebrows were furrowed. Merlin felt the strong urge to place his thumb in the divot between his brows and smooth it.

He was a figure of regality and Merlin’s heart ached bitterly with the pride he knew he was not allowed to feel. Arthur wasn’t _his._

“—introducing, Lady Helen of Mora.” Uther concluded, and the assembled people applauded. Merlin looked desperately for a place to conceal himself before the show began and found an alcove with a staircase just behind Arthur to his right. Merlin ducked behind the dais with the thrones and settled himself into it. Arthur was so close, Merlin could cry.

Lady Helen—or truly, Mary Collins, Merlin knew—began to sing. 

Her voice was beautiful and lilting, so soothing in its timbre that Merlin felt his eyes droop. Alarm bells sounded in his head, and Merlin placed his hands over his ears in just enough time to see others in the banquet hall begin to droop with exhaustion as well. Arthur’s head tilted and he too was asleep. Merlin fought the initial instinct of panic, of save him save him savehim _savehimsavehim_. Merlin didn’t know how Arthur needed him yet, and acting too quickly could blow his cover. For now, his panic was assuaged infinitesimally by the rise and fall of his soulmate’s chest.

  
The light in the room dimmed and cobwebs slowly formed from midair, covering everyone in the room in a fine layer of dust and silk. Lady Helen’s voice was getting louder now, about to reach the crescendo as she unsheathed a wicked dagger from her sleeve.

Merlin didn’t even have time to think.

His magic lashed out, severing the ropes holding the chandelier in the air and it crashed with a mighty jumble of sound as Lady Helen was pinned beneath its weight, still and unmoving, dagger still in hand.

The guests in the ballroom began to stir, and Merlin noticed Gaius removing some webs from his grey hair. Merlin wasn’t able to breathe until Arthur began to move again. When he did, Merlin sighed in great relief and pressed himself back into the alcove.

Lady Helen, now once more Mary Collins, was examined by the court, and Uther made a disbelieving noise. 

  
Suddenly, she pried herself off of the floor enough to move. The dagger in her hand glinted in the light of the banquet hall, and Merlin’s blood ran cold.  
  


_There are too many people, too many people_ , Merlin’s mind supplied desperately. _No magic, I can’t use my magic._  
  


Merlin had only seconds. There wasn’t another option.

  
He threw himself forward, tackling Arthur out of the way and dragging him to the floor, pinned underneath Merlin’s body. The banquet hall exploded into noise but Merlin’s ears were deaf to it. The sick thud of the dagger into the wood in front of which Arthur had been standing just seconds before made Merlin’s skin crawl. 

Arthur.

  
_Arthur_.

Merlin bit back the sob bubbling in his throat. Merlin was propped above Arthur, hands on either side of his head. Every inch of Merlin that was pressed to Arthur’s front _smoldered_. Arthur’s big, wide blue eyes were blinking rapidly, confused.  
  


Merlin watched the recognition dawn on his face in slowed time. 

Confusion. Shock. Relief. Joy. Realization. Pain. Anger. Angeranger _anger_.

Merlin pried himself away from Arthur, unable to look anymore, unable to hold Arthur in the way that he wanted. Merlin knew that it was over now. Arthur had seen him, seen his face once more, knew that Merlin was still in Camelot.

  
Merlin had to leave. He had to leave right now, before Arthur could stop him. If Arthur even wanted to stop him. Merlin knew that Arthur’s favor was forfeit to how Merlin had left him. Merlin had seen the pain in Arthur’s eyes. Merlin knew that he was _doing this to him_.

Merlin should’ve never stayed. It was selfish and horrible and he had to leave right now.

A hand grabbed Merlin’s arm, tight and unmovable. 

Relief and fear warred in Merlin. _Why was Arthur stopping him?_

But as Merlin turned, Uther Pendragon’s face greeted him. Merlin’s blood ran cold, but the king just smiled. Merlin could see none of Arthur’s warmth in the king’s blue eyes.

  
“You’ve saved my boy’s life. A debt must be repaid.” He said, icy eyes searching Merlin’s.

Merlin couldn’t tear his gaze away from Arthur, who was picking himself up off the floor. Arthur straightened and stood on the other side of Uther. Away from Merlin. Arthur wouldn’t return his gaze, and Merlin knew exactly why. Merlin fought back a wild laugh.

Uther was here, literally instead of metaphorically this time, standing between Merlin and Arthur. Fate had done this, too, Merlin knew.  
  


And then Arthur fixed his transcendental, bright eyes right on Merlin.  
  


No emotion was betrayed as Arthur stood, stone-faced, taking in every inch of Merlin. His hands were at his sides, balled into fists.  
  


“Oh, well…” Merlin said, trying once more to jerk out of Uther’s grip, but the king did not let him. Panic was building in Merlin’s gut. Arthur would say something and Uther would _know_ and Arthur would be disinherited or hurt and Merlin would not let that happen, he couldn’t let that _happen_ —

“Don’t be so modest. You shall be rewarded.” Uther’s face was bright.  
  


Merlin started searching the room for an exit. Arthur was still staring at him and the weight of his gaze _burned_.

Every nerve in his body was on edge. Every molecule in his body was screaming.

“No, honestly, you don’t have to, Your Highness.” Merlin begged, eyes landing on Uther’s and then on Arthur’s. Arthur’s eyes caught him and held Merlin down.  
  


A command was in those eyes, and Merlin knew instinctually what his soulmate wanted. But he couldn’t. 

  
“No, absolutely. This merits something quite special.” Uther insisted, dragging Merlin in close. Merlin’s magic hissed underneath his skin at being so close to someone so full of dormant hate. This was why Merlin could never stay, couldn’t Arthur _see_?

  
Merlin was _broken_ and Arthur’s father would never be able to stop hating someone like him.

“Well…” Merlin said, realizing that Uther was looking for a response, but the word was automatic.  
  


_Well, I have to leave_.

  
_Well, I don’t belong here and I have to flee Camelot and never look back_.

  
_Well, the fates have destined me to love your son more than anything else in the world and I can feel it pressing at my chest every day I’m alive and I can’t condemn him to love me_.

_Well, I have magic. Please kill me. I’m sure your son won’t even care, I’ve hurt him so much. Let this end_.

“You shall be rewarded a position in the royal household.” Uther clapped Merlin on the back and Merlin felt his bones rattle. 

_No, I can’t I have to leave_ , Merlin wanted to say, but the words were cut off before they could even begin.

“You shall be Prince Arthur’s manservant.” Uther said, before moving away, a grin splitting his face like he had just given Merlin the keys to his treasury.

Time, like Merlin’s heart, seemed to slow to a stop. 

Arthur, gaping, frozen in horror made a protest, but Merlin couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears. Merlin couldn’t take his eyes off of Arthur if he tried as the man turned and looked at him once more.

His mouth was curled into a sneer, anger radiating from every pore. Merlin should have run while Arthur had his back turned.

Merlin felt small, tremulous, shaky as he was pinned beneath Arthur’s glare. Merlin prayed that his knees weren’t visibly shaking. How was it fair that all Merlin wanted to do was kiss him?

Arthur suddenly jerked forward and grabbed Merlin’s arm in one swift movement. Merlin felt his soulmate’s hand burn into his skin, even through his jacket. Electricity and want coursed through Merlin so potently it made the room spin. Arthur leaned in.  


  
“You will meet me in my chambers when this banquet is over. I deserve an explanation.” Arthur growled, eyes searching Merlin’s for something. “If you are not there, I will personally search the entire kingdom until I have found you. No one in Camelot will be able to keep you from me. Do not think for a second that you can hide.”  


  
Merlin’s mouth was dry, and his balance was not helped at all by Arthur’s closeness. Merlin could see the small freckles on Arthur’s tan skin, he could see the pink of Arthur’s lips, the small, fine hairs at his hairline. His breath smelled like the warmth of mead and Merlin barely resisted the shiver of delight. The sharp contrast between the guilt and fear roiling in Merlin’s belly and the overwhelming relief at having his soulmate so close did nothing to ease Merlin’s nerves.

“You will not leave me again.” Arthur demanded, and just for the smallest second, the wall behind Arthur’s eyes crumpled. He looked vulnerable, frightened, desperate. Merlin turned toward him on instinct, wanting to comfort him, but just like that, it was gone. Arthur’s face was stony once more as he released Merlin’s arm, backing away. His eyes held a warning, but his hands were shaking as Arthur sat back down at the table.

Arthur held his gaze, and then turned away.


	3. a lesson in defining what's not yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur was there, suddenly, glowing, impossibly bright, cast in sharp relief in the shadows of the fireplace. The door swung shut behind him, the quiet noise deafening in the silence of the room. Merlin couldn’t keep still, and every possible emotion Merlin thought he might feel beat at his ribs. Arthur looked like an avenging angel—regal and cold and heavenly—and every coherent thought Merlin had flew out of the window and into the cold night like a freed sparrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i'm still updating this!
> 
> this chapter was a DOOZY to write so excuse my tardiness!
> 
> this fic is now going to be four chapters, because this chapter was just a bit too long to fit into one. i never imagined this fic would be this long but apparently i have way more to say than i thought, lol!
> 
> see you at the bottom!

Merlin was going to implode.

The tension behind his eyes and inside of his skull was crushing away every rational thought until Merlin couldn’t think at all. His heart beat, his blood pumped, his chest rose, and it was all to the beat of Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur_.

Merlin was pacing in Arthur’s chambers, stopping briefly only for a couple of seconds every rotation to straighten Arthur’s bedclothes which he knew were straight already. 

As soon as Arthur had released Merlin’s arm, Merlin had fled the room, arm burning and sending shockwaves that lit Merlin’s body on fire. A young woman, the same one who had the tray earlier, Merlin barely had the ability to remember, stopped him with an iron grip on his arm. Her eyes were pitying as she pressed a bundle of fabric into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” She said, and guided a numb Merlin through the maze of corridors. Merlin, emotionally exhausted and mentally tauter than a bowstring, lumbered dazedly after her. The rows and rows of identical, looming hallways made Merlin feel iller and more isolated than he had ever felt in his life. After what felt like hours of climbing dizzying turrets and descending lavish staircases, the woman stopped outside of large doors. 

“These are Prince Arthur’s chambers,” she said. “You will need to change the bed linens,” a nod to the bundle in Merlin’s arms, “as I don’t think Evander will have had the chance to change them.” She then proceeded to rattle off a series of chores that Merlin was too numb to register or comprehend. At the end of her spiel, she paused as if sensing his inability to process this, patted Merlin’s arm lamely, and then whisked past him, leaving him alone in the hallway.

Merlin stepped inside, struggling briefly with the heavy door before being stopped in his tracks as if physically pushed. The room— _gods_ the room. It was bigger than any chambers that Merlin had seen in his life and smelled like musk and soulmate and _home_. Merlin blinked back the force of unbidden tears.  
  


What was he going to do, _what was he going to do_?

_I should leave_ , Merlin thought. _Dump the bedclothes here and run and run and never look back. Royal manservant! I am going to be found out quicker than…_ Merlin’s mind swirled for a comparison and came up blank. He was in an entirely new depth of idiocy.

But…Arthur.

He couldn’t leave Arthur, not after…everything. As much as Merlin would rather throw everything to the wind and flee, Arthur was right. He deserved an explanation. And then, Merlin could leave— _would_ leave. 

As Merlin had wrestled the bedclothes onto the mattress, for a lack of anything else to do, he had to repeatedly fight the urge to throw himself upon it and never get up again.

As much as Merlin had been restless and unable to sleep these past nights, every single thing in Arthur’s room had disarmed him, left him bare and limp, and sleep was trying valiantly to rise up and claim him. Merlin had to keep shaking himself out of it. He felt like an imposer already, creepy and voyeuristic in a space that he had no claim to. Arthur might have been his soulmate, but they didn’t even know each other. Merlin would not take away the little agency Arthur had over his space, now that Merlin had been all but ordered to occupy it.

Which left him in his current predicament—pacing frantically from one end of the room to the other, rubbing his hands on his arms, trying to get all of his panicked energy out of his body.

  
It was just Arthur. Everything about Merlin’s life had led him to this exact moment, his soulmate, and Merlin wouldn’t be afraid of anything Arthur did to him. Merlin deserved it.

Footsteps began to sound at the end of the hallway. Merlin’s pulse jumped frantically. 

Arthur! ArthurArthur _Arthur_!

Merlin scanned the room once, frantically, making sure everything was in order. Bedclothes? In order. Fire? Roaring and hissing in the fireplace. The light of it cast sinister shadows across the floor, and the glowing imprint of the flames on the stone floor felt like they were rippling at Merlin’s ankles, tugging at them. Burning him alive.

Arthur was there, suddenly, glowing, impossibly bright, cast in sharp relief in the shadows of the fireplace. The door swung shut behind him, the quiet noise deafening in the silence of the room. Merlin couldn’t keep still, and every possible emotion Merlin thought he might feel beat at his ribs. Arthur looked like an avenging angel—regal and cold and heavenly—and every coherent thought Merlin had flew out of the window and into the cold night like a freed sparrow.

Arthur opened his mouth and—

~ 

Arthur didn’t remember the rest of the banquet.

He remembered the singer, remembered the way Morgana’s hand lingered at Gwen’s wrist when she went to pour her more wine and gods—why hadn’t Arthur noticed this before?

Then he remembered waking up in a nest of spiderwebs and a pale hand shoving him to the floor.

Then all Arthur could feel was impossible heat, scorching his bones and alighting every nerve of his body on fire. He was here.

He was _here_.

His eyes were more blinding than Arthur could have ever remembered and the colors around him burst into such vibrant intensity that Arthur had to squint as he blinked up at his other half.

Arthur had spent days feeling sicker than any living person should have felt because he believed his soulmate was gone. Gone forever. He had been weak and ashamed and closed off because he believed that his soulmate would rather never see him again.

But his soulmate was here ( _!!!_ ) and he was so very alive and unbelievably human and _real_ and Arthur could feel his bony hipbones in his stomach and it hurt a little but damned if Arthur was going to move a single _inch_ and he…just saved Arthur’s life.

Arthur was going to kill him.

As Uther wrangled the boy into conversation, Arthur had tried to catalogue every single thing that he had missed the first time, in those too short moments before he had run. Arthur was wrong about the tilt of his mouth. It was lower than he remembered—the boy’s brilliant smile, lacking now, had lifted it in Arthur’s memory, seared there. The boy was still impossibly waifish and too lean to be healthy. Arthur smothered the sparks of his innate instinct to heap ungodly amounts of food on the boy with the blanket of his own sizable rage. Arthur eyed the chicken at his left on the table.  
  


_No_. Arthur was furious.

The boy kept looking to Arthur, eyes begging, impossibly pained. Arthur met his gaze dead-on, searching the impossibly blue depth and hoping the steel cage Arthur was forced to built around the fluttering in his chest was communicated. 

_You did this_. 

_You_ _ruined_ _this_.

When Uther had pronounced the boy’s new position, he wilted like the sentence was fatal. He looked strained and… _afraid_. Arthur’s anger curdled into an undefinable tangle of emotion, and he felt sick again.

“ _You will not leave me again_ ,” Arthur had said, desperation in every single particle of his being. Gods, he had sounded like a child. Petulant, jealous, naive. He had sounded like a needy, possessive brat instead of the king his father had raised him to be. Arthur didn’t owe this man anything.  
  
But…

Arthur wanted to give him what he wanted.

  
If what Arthur’s soulmate wanted to do was what Arthur thought, Arthur would let it happen. He just hoped he had the strength to do it.

The rest of the banquet was a blur. Arthur remembered none of it, except Morgana’s knowing look and her increased attempts to herd Uther into inane conversation that would keep him away from pursuing it with Arthur.

Arthur left as soon as we was able. He hated every second of the insipid banquet now that he knew what was waiting for him. Every second of Arthur’s life had been leading him to this moment, to his soulmate, and Arthur just wanted to get it over with.

He pushed open the door and…

  
Gods.

  
To be able to come back to this every day.

Arthur’s soulmate stood in the middle of the room. His face was accented by the warm, welcoming glow of the fire, and his blue eyes were shot through with lightning. His soulmate’s neckerchief was slightly crooked, and every part of Arthur not wracked with anticipated pain wanted to cross the room and fix it. To see his soulmate in his chambers, bathed in warm firelight and waiting to see him…it couldn’t even be described.

Arthur would never be this lucky again.

It was too late. Arthur had made up his mind. He knew what he had to do.

“Ah. You’re here.” Arthur said, defeat already plain in his tone.

He forced himself to turn away, to untie the cloak tie at his neck. It proved to be much harder than he thought. Arthur wrestled it off around shaky, uncooperative fingers, and crossed the room to the table. He sat at the very end, putting the table between him and the boy across from him.

There was no possible way that this boy could physically attack Arthur even if he wanted to—the boy weighed practically less than a large hay bale—but the amount of pain he held at the tip of his tongue was unmeasurable. Arthur wanted the distance.

Arthur need to do it now, get it out of the way, reset the bone before it fused back together crooked. Arthur summoned all of the bravado and pride he had ever felt. 

“You can leave.” Arthur said. The boy, a ball of nervous energy, stopped. He looked at Arthur, blinking. The fire popped and hissed in the hearth. The shadows played on the boy’s face. From Arthur’s position at the table, his soulmate was silhouetted in fire, and his face was impossible to make out in the dim room. 

“Go.” Arthur said again, looking pointedly at the door, hands clasped on the table in front of him. 

The boy didn’t move a single muscle. Arthur saw him open his shadow of a mouth. Close it. He took a step towards Arthur. Arthur, heartbeat in his throat, held up a warning hand. 

“I’m giving you your key, idiot.” Arthur rasped. “Take it.” 

Silence. A passing voice laughed in the hall, a jarring and inappropriate noise. The boy flinched at it. 

“Just like that?” The boy asked, and Arthur thought he had imagined it for a second for the boy’s voice was deadly calm, barely above a whisper.

“Just like that.” Arthur confirmed, hand gesturing at the door before falling limply back to the table. Arthur felt more tired than he had ever felt in his life. Every ounce of bravado had evaporated, and the boy had said less than five words. This man across from Arthur had the potential to wield more power than anyone in Camelot and he didn’t even know it.

“The only condition,” Arthur continued after a pause, heart rending painfully in his chest, “is I never want to see you again. You leave Camelot and you never return, do you understand?”

Nothing. 

Arthur wished he could see the boy’s face. Although, perhaps, it was better this way.

“Your father—“ The boy’s voice was quiet.

“I’ll tell him I fired you. You don’t have any duty to me.” Arthur interrupted. 

That part, at least, was true. Arthur didn’t want the boy here if he thought he owed Arthur something. That’s not a love Arthur wanted to own.

But Arthur knew that he didn’t need to be worried. This was what his soulmate wanted— _clearly_. At his first chance, the boy fled. He didn’t try to find Arthur again despite knowing his name, rank, and location of residence. Despite knowing that Arthur wanted and needed him. Despite being in Camelot this _whole time_. Arthur pushed that last thought away. Getting upset over that—although Arthur felt he had every right to—was not the last impression he wanted to leave on his other half. 

Arthur gathered the threads of his composure.

“I—…” The boy made an aborted move forward. “I thought you wanted an explanation.” 

His voice was low, and Arthur felt simultaneously comforted and injured by its lilting timbre. Instinct was calming Arthur. _Your soulmate is here—why are you so upset?_ it seemed to croon. But every rational part of Arthur was on edge. This wasn’t over. This wouldn’t be over until Arthur was…alone. 

Again. 

Alone again.

Anger began to bubble, low and dangerous, below Arthur’s breastbone. Arthur tried to stifle it.

“I did. I don’t want to listen to you anymore.” Arthur said, the deep rumble of ire pushing up in his tone.

  
The boy flinched, as if struck, and _dammit_ why couldn’t Arthur see the boy’s face?

“You clearly don’t want to be here. You’ve already decided I’m not worth your time. So why are you even still here?” Arthur snapped. The boy was silent. This irked Arthur even more. “Get out!” 

The boy didn’t move.

“I don’t.” He said, as Arthur mentally swung back, ready to land another verbal blow. The words gave him just an ounce of pause. Not enough, though.

  
“Don’t want to be here? I know. Get out.” 

“No, I mean…I don’t think you’re not worth my time.” The boy muttered, stepping closer, and he was finally close enough that Arthur could now see his face.

Impossibly bright blue eyes seemed to glow, framed by the beginnings of tears. His brow was furrowed, and he seemed either indignant or devastated. Arthur’s stomach was churning. The room felt too hot and too cold at once, and Arthur felt ready to fight a thousand armies.

Arthur wanted to rip his own hair out. He didn’t even know what to _think_ anymore. 

“You’re so…! I don’t—“ Arthur jolted to his feet, hands finding balance on the table as he leaned forward.

  
“What do you want from me?” Arthur demanded, and to his intense shame, felt the beginnings of white hot tears prick at the back of his eyes. Arthur spun on his heel, and began to pace behind his chair. He felt jittery and explosive—so overwhelmed by emotion that he didn’t know what to do. 

“I want you to be happy.” He said simply, collapsing into the chair Arthur just vacated. He looked so incredibly small, shoulders hunching defensively, knees drawn together. The boy rubbed a hand across his face, and Arthur noticed for the first time the huge bags under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping either.

  
“How is any of this—“ Arthur gestured between the two of them, incredulity painting his words. “supposed to make me happy?”

The boy remained silent.

Arthur turned on his heel and kept pacing. He needed distance—he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Arthur crossed to the window and placed his forehead on the glass, inhaling deeply and slowly as the icy glass calmed his nerves.

People below were leaving the banquet hall, milling and calling to each other playfully, as if the ordeal of watching the prince almost be murdered could be washed away with some good mead. Arthur felt incredibly isolated, so far above them, trapped in a too hot room with someone who had the power to break him.

Poor, pathetic Prince Arthur.

  
Alone, even now.

“How was…you running away from me supposed to make me happy?” Arthur asked, shoulders slumping. The people down below in the courtyard blurred when Arthur’s tired eyes couldn’t manage to focus anymore. Arthur crossed his arms, one hand reaching up and rubbing his tired face before leaning against the window frame.

“Who’s ring is that?” His soulmate asked, and Arthur took a beat to register the question. 

“What?” Arthur asked, snapping his eyes over to him. The boy was perked up on his chair, looking at Arthur’s left hand. He looked like a damned stoat. Arthur looked down at his mother’s ring on his index finger. It glinted in the light of the fire. Arthur had been spinning it and he hadn’t even noticed. Arthur recrossed his arms so his soulmate couldn’t see it anymore. 

“It was my mother’s.” Arthur said, the surprising wave of emotion that the declaration brought made Arthur’s eyes sting again. The boy nodded in understanding, slumping down once more. His knee started bouncing up and down, full of nervous energy.

  
“Don’t think you can avoid the question,” Arthur prodded, serious. The boy nodded again, not looking up.

“I know. I just don’t know what to say, Arthur.” The name out of that mouth sent a bolt of pure lightning down Arthur’s back and he straightened. The boy ran a hand through his unruly hair, making it stick up in awkward tufts. Arthur would’ve found himself grudgingly mollified by the sight, if it weren’t for the haunted look behind his soulmate’s eyes. The boy was too young to carry whatever burden he held there.

Arthur knew.

He saw that look in the mirror.

“I did what I did to make you happy, because you can never be happy with me.” The boy said, eyes on the middle distance, as if he too could see the people out of the window from his place on the other side of the room.

Arthur bristled.

  
“That’s not your choice to make.” He groused. The boy finally met his eyes. 

“Arthur…” He sounded so sad, so defeated, that it only irritated Arthur further.

  
“You can’t make a decision that involves two people on your own.” The boy only looked back down. Arthur continued, anger building, rising, bubbling beneath the surface, “What’s so awful about you that you feel that you can just erase me like that?”

His soulmate straightened in his chair. He looked wary, like he trying to figure out how to bargain for his life with a particularly tempestuous bandit.

“I could never make you happy, Arthur. And you could never make me happy.”

Arthur felt stricken, and if he hadn’t been supported by the window frame, he would’ve stepped backwards. Arthur felt numb all over.

“Why’s that?” Arthur’s voice was deadly calm. His tongue felt like a sponge, soaking all reasonable words or arguments away. 

The boy looked contrite, to his infinitesimal credit, but pleading. Arthur blinked and found that wetness met him there. 

Arthur hadn’t even had his soulmate yet and had already disappointed him.

“Your father would never let us be together. He would separate us, or—or try to tear us apart, and that’s not a life—” 

Arthur’s world funneled into a pinpoint. He couldn’t see the room anymore. His soulmate’s voice was gone. The roar of the fire grew and grew in grew in Arthur’s ears until he could only see the flames, taste the ash, feel the heat licking fingers, hear them screaming in his ears.

“My father.” Arthur repeated, cutting his soulmate— _was he still talking?_ —off. His soulmate blinked at him. Arthur blinked back.

“My father.” Arthur said, chuffing a hollow laugh. Something was building in his chest, igniting his lungs, tearing past his throat, mouth, tongue—Arthur made a choked noise, hand covering mouth, eyes closing, lurching forward. 

  
“My father has taken _everything_ from me,” Arthur heard himself bellow, and his soulmate was in front of him grabbing his arms, grip searing into his flesh, eyes burning such intense color Arthur wanted to drown himself in it. “He can never leave me be, he always has to _ruin_ me.” Arthur gasped but couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He had never felt such all-encompassing rage before, had never felt it prick at his skin and turn his stomach to rot. He had no idea where the words had come from, he didn’t feel like this, he didn’t blame his father for anything, did he?

Uther had taught him how to be strong, self-reliant, proud…right?

All of the sudden, the anger was gone, sucked out of him and into the night. Arthur leant forward, pressing his forehead to his soulmate’s shoulder. He didn’t dare look at his face. The strength had fled, too, and now he felt like an empty husk of a man. Pride gone. Hope gone. Arthur just wanted this to be over.

Arthur blinked down at their shoes—his polished boots and his soulmate’s scuffed work shoes. They were blurry. Arthur blinked again, and watched a single drop darken his soulmate’s jacket. Oh. Arthur’s tears had finally escaped, it seemed.

Arthur felt mortified and pried open—exposed and vulnerable. No wonder his soulmate thought Arthur couldn’t make him happy. He had probably terrified the poor boy. Arthur’s moods had shifted so suddenly Arthur felt a little bit like an emotional girl. Gods, how the mighty had fallen.

Arthur gathered his strength and crossed the room to his bed, shrugging off his soulmate’s hands. Arthur inhaled raggedly and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as he sat down at the foot of it.

“I..” Arthur inhaled, then exhaled, moving his hands from his eyes to his lap. “I can change.”

  
His soulmate looked confused, arms still raised slightly from where Arthur had been. He moved to sit next to Arthur on the bed, and Arthur let him. The weight sinking down next to him felt frightfully familiar and comforting. Arthur felt himself leaning in slightly, barely.

“Whatever you don’t like about me.” Arthur clarified, gritting his teeth, closing his eyes. Arthur was a proud man, but if his own damn issues were the defining factor of him having a soulmate, Arthur would bend. He would break.

“What?” His soulmate said, confused. Arthur didn’t look at his face. Gods, what disgust must lie there. Pathetic. A child so desperate for love he was willing to beg. “Wait, no.” His soulmate’s weight left the bed and Arthur mourned the loss for a brief moment before his soulmate was in front of him, kneeling in front of his Arthur’s knees, hands on Arthur’s biceps.

“Look at me,” Arthur’s soulmate demanded. Arthur looked. His soulmate’s eyes were so pitying that Arthur felt anger prickle at his insides again. He went to push his soulmate away but the boy held fast.

“This isn’t your fault, Arthur.” He said firmly, eyes blazing with determination. “You can’t change yourself for people, that’s not how it works.”

Arthur looked away. Tears burned in his eyes and Arthur wiped a hand across his face.

“Gods, look at me. I’m such a damned mess.” Arthur tried to laugh, a limp, empty thing. “I don’t even know your name.”

The boy straightened, and the movement caught Arthur’s eye. His soulmate’s mouth opened, floundering for words.

“Oh. Oh gods. No you don’t. I’m so—you see the thing—I don’t even—“

“Hey.” Arthur cut in, shutting the boy’s rambling off. His head was already pounding as it was. 

“Sorry.” The boy muttered. “I’m sorry that I’m not doing this right. I just…I’ve wanted a soulmate for so long that it feels cruel now that you’re here and you can’t be mine.”

Arthur goes to cut him off, but the boy places a hand on Arthur’s knee. Arthur promptly swallows his tongue.

  
“I need to show you something—something that will explain what I meant.” Arthur’s soulmate moved his hands to his own lap, and Arthur watched the hand on his knee leave. Arthur wanted it back.

  
“I never want to hurt you, Arthur. Please know that.” The boy said, eyes desperate and wide. Arthur nodded, the severity of the situation settling in.

A shout came from outside, and Arthur’s head snapped to the window. The shout faded into tipsy laughter. Gods, were people still leaving the banquet? Arthur’s eye caught on the silhouette of the two of them that the fire cast. The posters of the bed made the foot of the bed look like a throne, with a man atop and a man at his feet. Arthur was inexplicably transfixed.

  
“My name is Merlin, and…I’m sorry, Arthur.” The boy said. Merlin. _Merlin_.

His soulmate’s name was Merlin.

  
His star’s name was Merlin.

He turned back to face his soulmate when he heard his soulmate whisper a word Arthur didn’t recognize. Arthur bit back a laugh.

“What kind of name is—“

  
The words died in his throat. Shriveled, decayed, and rotted on Arthur’s tongue as his soulmate held up his hands, as golden dust swirled in his palms. His blue, blue, blue eyes were now as golden as the rays of the sun.

A purple flower sat in his hands, where once there was nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the flower merlin is holding is a purple columbine. the purple columbine flower is associated with resolution, anxiety, and devotion. it represents intense internal struggle and all-encompassing devotion.
> 
> ta-da~! 
> 
> i hoped to you liked this!
> 
> if you did, please drop a kudos/comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> i'll see you in a little bit with the last update!
> 
> EDIT: yes, this work is still being updated! i literally just got a tumblr, so if you feel like, i'll keep progress updates over there! sorry for the delay!   
> https://tomsotb.tumblr.com/
> 
> have a great one, and stay safe!


	4. a lesson in trying to understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His soulmate was still kneeling, flower held in his hand, looking so small and sad at the foot of the bed that Arthur wanted to vomit. The firelight that illuminated him in a warm glow seconds before now made his face ruddy and unnatural.
> 
> Magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...haha...i'm back!
> 
> yes, yes, it did take me a ridiculous amount of time, but y'all don't want to hear about that, y'all want the end of this behemoth! here you go! see you at the bottom!

Arthur

Arthur…

Arthur couldn’t—

Before Arthur could have a coherent thought, he could feel himself flinching. Arthur jerked back, throwing his legs back and around the bed post so he could stand up. Away.

_Get away_.

His head was spinning.

His soulmate was still kneeling, flower held in his hand, looking so small and sad at the foot of the bed that Arthur wanted to vomit. The firelight that illuminated him in a warm glow seconds before now made his face ruddy and unnatural.

  
Magic.

_Magic_.

A decade of training kicked in, pushing Arthur into action. He reached for his belt before he knew what he was doing, only to find his hand grasping at nothing. His sword was gone, so what would he—  
  
Ice water poured through his veins.

  
What…

  
What was he _doing_?

This was his soulmate—still a _boy_ —would Arthur really…hurt him?

_He has magic_ , a voice in Arthur’s head hissed. _Magic corrupts absolutely_.

Arthur’s head snapped up, hoping Merlin didn’t see the grab for a weapon, but his face was shuttered. Merlin’s eyes were fathomless and sad as he looked up at Arthur. The resignation on his face sickened Arthur to his core.  
  
Merlin would let him do it.

Arthur stumbled backward, foot catching on the rug and his whole world shook as he slammed to the ground. His head spun, his body ached, he couldn’t feel his hands. From the impact or shock he didn’t know but—

What was he doing to do?

_Dear God, his soulmate was a monster_.

Magic was the shadow that lurked in the impressive wake of Camelot. Magic was truly evil, and those who wielded it would miss no chance to use it to harm Arthur and his birthright. His family. Magic corrupted _absolutely_.

The two boys stared at each other, both on the floor, a million words thrown between them that Arthur could never comprehend.

  
Merlin didn’t… _look_ evil.

He looked small, devastated, and scared. The small flower in his palm was still there, shaking slightly as the boy’s hand trembled. The fireplace, now behind him once more, was blinding, and shadow cast his face in darkness. His blue eyes were wide and teary.  
  
Merlin was afraid.

Arthur knew what to do.

  
“Don’t worry, Merlin.” Arthur swallowed the heavy lump in his throat, doing his best to hide his fear for the sake of his soulmate. “I can save you. I know that magic is tempting and frightening, but you can fight this.”  
  
Merlin didn’t speak.  
  
“I know you can.” Arthur continued, emboldened by the increasingly horrified look on Merlin’s face. At least the boy now realized what he had done. “Whatever book you found, we can destroy it. Magic is pure evil, Merlin, and I don’t want it to hurt you.”  
  
Arthur sat up, and Merlin flinched back sharply. Arthur held out his hands in a placating manner.  
  
“I won’t tell my father, I promise. It was a mistake. As long as you renounce magic, nothing will happen to you.”

  
Merlin made a strangled noise in his throat, part laugh and part sob. Arthur let the boy have his moment, knowing first-hand how terrifying the influence of magic could be. Arthur had seen it corrupt more than one of his subjects, knights, friends. He knew the price magic demanded.

“Merlin—“ Arthur started, ready to console his trembling soulmate.

“I can feel magic flowing through my veins.” Merlin blurted. Arthur stopped his movements towards him. His blood ran cold.

  
A sharp stab of panic made Arthur’s insides twist in agony.

“I was born with magic, Arthur.” He said, confidence and voice audibly cracking as he stared across the room at Arthur.

Merlin stood. The glow of the fire illuminated his entire body now, as he seemed to loom over Arthur, despite being feet away. Arthur felt like an unwilling pilgrim at the feet of a wrathful deity, witnessing a holy event too terrifying and glorious to be able to put into words. The flower hung limply from its stem in Merlin’s fingers.

“I was born like this, Arthur. I have never used my magic to harm anyone. I cannot renounce it and I will not renounce it. I have only ever used my magic for good.” Merlin’s soft tone of voice never changed, but Arthur felt that he might as well have been shouting with how loud his voice ground against his ears. Still, the overwhelming emotion singing in Arthur’s veins was longing—love—for his soulmate. It wailed against his fear, shredded his insides, made Arthur’s head fuzzy.

What kind of traitor was Arthur for his own heart to betray his father like this?

“Earlier tonight, I used my magic to save you from the enchantress.” Arthur felt shaken to his core about this revelation, but the more he pondered it, the more it made sense. How had she been pinned the floor? How could anyone have not fallen asleep?

Magic. Magic. Magic.

  
The word pounded against Arthur’s skull like a war drum.

“I saved the entire court, Arthur.” Merlin was still talking. Why was Merlin still talking? “I used my magic to save your family—the king! Why would I do that if I wanted you dead?”

Merlin was getting closer, stopping at Arthur’s feet. He stood over the fallen prince, shadow casting his body in darkness.

There was no other word for Merlin then, standing with his back to the flames, hand outstretched as he fell to a crouch. He was simply, irredeemably beautiful. His cheekbones were razor sharp in the low light, blue eyes sparking with every emotion Arthur felt raging inside of himself.

  
Fear, determination, desperation.

The look of a half finally understanding what being whole meant.

_It meant being hurt_.  
  
“I want to use my magic to help you, Arthur. And I think…I think it’s my destiny.” He smiled, a small, half-ironic little quirk of his mouth, but the air left Arthur all the same. “I think you are, too.”

Destiny.

  
The word set Arthur’s nerves alight, sent his fuzzy head on another twirl.

Arthur could do nothing—his head was aching, his body was trembling, his soul was beating at his ribcage, begging to be set free—but stare at Merlin’s outstretched hand.

A second passed.

Another.

Merlin sighed.

“I understand.”

  
His hand fell between them, retreating back to Merlin’s lap as he stood up. The flower, the damned thing, seemed to glow as Merlin’s lithe fingers placed it on Arthur’s bed. He traced the stem, and then turned.

His blue eyes, once the warm embers of the fire, now held a flinty edge. Arthur, even though he knew logically that Merlin probably wouldn’t hurt him, steeled himself.

“I won’t wait for you forever, Arthur.” Merlin said, confidence returning to his voice. “I’ll stay in Camelot for two more days. If you decide to stop being a prat and talk, I’m staying with Gaius. I’m afraid you missed your chance to kill me.” Merlin gestured at the spot at Arthur’s waist where his sword would have been. The levity he was aiming for garroted itself around Arthur’s throat and he missed his next breath.

And yet, Merlin smiled.

“I hope you think about it.”

Merlin crossed the room, pushed the heavy door open, and vanished into the hallway beyond.

  
Arthur felt nothing.

~

Sunlight streamed, raw and blinding, through Morgana’s windows as Arthur leaned against her bedpost. The light—Arthur learned that the word for it was ‘yellow’ (or ‘golden’ if one was particularly inclined to poetry, which Arthur was not)—warmed the room immeasurably, and on any other day, in any other circumstance, Arthur was sure that he would feel calmed to his core.

“So, Tommy Jacobs in the lower town is planning on running away with her—can you believe that?” Morgana continued.

She had been talking for a while, but Arthur couldn’t describe with any degree of accuracy what she was talking about. When Arthur had shown up at her door in the morning, eyes wide and hollow, she let him in without a word. As soon as her gesture for Arthur to sit down had been denied, she began chatting idly. If Arthur had been any more perceptive, he would have appreciated the chance she gave him to work up his courage to speak.

  
The gesture went unnoticed.

As it was, Arthur couldn’t bear to sit down. He was trained to be a man of action, and every restless bone in his body prevented stillness. In theory, Arthur was using Morgana’s bedpost to lean on, but in practice, he was shifting on his feet, methodically cracking every available knuckle in his hands.

Arthur had waited as long as he could to talk to someone.

He knew that he needed to get it out of him, because he had sat all night in his room (flower in hand, turning it in the firelight, watching it carefully for any sign of impermanence) thinking in circles. No matter how hard Arthur tried, he had no idea what to do next.

As much as he hated to admit it, he knew that he needed someone to acknowledge him—to look at him and know that he was there and to confirm that anything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours had actually occurred. Because right now, Arthur felt intangible and shaky, like any breeze would knock him into dust.

And…

He didn’t _have_ anyone.

He had “friends,” sure, but they were always the sons of his father’s friends. They couldn’t give less of a shit about Arthur. The feeling was mutual.

  
Morgana crossed the room to her dressing table, rifling through the drawers.

“Oh! That reminds me—Gwen told me the other day that her neighbor—“  
  
“My soulmate has magic.” Arthur blurted.

Morgana froze, her words cutting off abruptly.

Silence.

Arthur felt his hands ball into fists.

_God, what had he_ ** _done_** _?_  
  
He thought maybe Morgana would be able to empathize, understand, but clearly he was wrong. She was as much Uther’s daughter as Arthur was his son. He knew she would go to Uther as soon as she could. Arthur shifted back, ready to block the door in case she tried to run.

Her back was still to him— _why wasn’t she turning around?_

Morgana straightened.

Arthur wanted to fight, he could feel the nervous energy make his hands shake with the need to hit something.

When finally she turned, Arthur wasn’t expecting the perfect blankness of her features.

She was statuesque as she stared at him, cold, careful eyes examining his every movement. Her mouth was in a neutral line, eyebrow raised inquisitively. The look sent shivers down Arthur’s spine.

“I see.” She said, voice as smooth as if she was carefully assembling her every word, syllable by syllable. “And what have you done?”

Morgana was pure fire, lightning crackling across the sky. She met Arthur blow for brutal blow, and her sudden, complete submission made Arthur’s skin prickle unpleasantly. She felt like the placid screen of a lake, entirely dependent on the one standing over it to convey anything of substance.

“Done?” The question made Arthur pause. “I haven’t done anything, Morgana. I can’t—“ The word felt wrong on Arthur’s tongue. “ _Won’t_ —turn him in, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Like a switch had been flipped, feeling returned to Morgana’s stony gaze. But still, not a single muscle in her face moved as she asked,

“Then what _will_ you do?”

There it was.

The impossible question.

  
“I..I don’t know.” Arthur admitted. He pulled at the seams of his gloves, rubbing his thumb over the curve of his pointer finger again and again and again.

Morgana glided over to her table and sat down.

“That was him at the banquet, right?” She asked, hand findings its place under her chin as she studied him.

Arthur nodded. How could that have been only last night?  
  
Arthur felt that he had aged decades since he first sat at that table, head swimming with insecurity. He thought he was never going to see his soulmate again.

Would that have been better than this?

“Well he was a darling, little whelp.” Morgana’s face split into a radiant beam, her eyes sparking with mischief. “When can I expect the wedding invitation?”  
  
“It’s not a joke, Morgana!” Arthur snapped, storming forward. Indignation and panic made his heart jackknife in his chest.

“My soulmate is a _monster_! He’s—he’s can’t—“ Arthur began, but Morgana’s hand slammed down on the table.

  
“A monster?” She snarled. All joviality was gone, and she looked thunderous as she learned across the table to glare up at his face.

“And to think, I thought that at least one of the Pendragon men wouldn’t turn into a spineless brat.”  
  
“Watch your—“ Arthur roared, rushing forward, but Morgana was not finished.

“Uther’s cowardice has poisoned you against on the of the best things that could ever happen to you and you’re going to let him. You’re acting like the petulant child everyone thinks you are!”

Morgana was rising in her chair, alight eyes never leaving Arthur’s as they leaned across the table. This was the Morgana Arthur knew, but she was imprudent, no holds barred before Arthur could get a word in edgewise.

“Those with magic are not monsters, Arthur. When are you going to—“  
  
“I alone have been targeted by sorcerers and witches my entire life!” Arthur interrupted, equal parts pride and fury. “They have tried to kill every member of this family, and I will not sit here and pretend—!”

“How many magic-users have you murdered, Arthur?” Morgana cut him off, voice deadly calm. Arthur felt the words like a physical blow. He recoiled.

“What?”  
  
“How many people with magic have you killed?” Morgana repeated. “Women, children, families? How many?”  
  
Arthur, gape-mouthed, could only stare back at her. How dare she? Didn’t she know that—? Arthur’s mind was spinning, images rising unbidden of Uther’s ordered attack on the druid village. Homes burning to the ground. Children screaming. Arthur couldn’t stop his father’s men, it wasn’t his fault! It wasn’t!

“I-I didn’t have a choice,” Arthur said, as out of breath as if he had fought an army. His voice was quiet even to his own ears.

“They didn’t either.” Morgana growled, eyes narrowing. She leaned farther forward. Arthur leaned back. “You have spent your entire life thoughtlessly slaughtering thousands of unarmed men, women, and children just because they use the tools given to them. If anyone here is the monster, it’s not your soulmate.”  
  
Arthur felt absolutely numb, shot through his core. Morgana began to move, stepping around the table and moving to Arthur. Arthur stepped away.

“Your father has let his hate poison your heart.” She said, her voice still low and steady.

  
“Enough.” Arthur murmured, head spinning. The room seemed to spin underneath Arthur’s feet and he took another step away from the table, turning away from Morgana’s blurry approaching form.

“He has hurt you in every possible way, Arthur. You don’t owe him any—“  
  
“Enough!” Arthur snapped, spinning around to face her. Morgana was closer than he thought, and his outburst brought them almost chest to chest. They stared at each other for a beat, chests heaving. Then, as if both realizing how exhausted they were, their anger fizzled out like hot iron drowned in water.

Morgana looked at him, and for a terrifying moment, Arthur knew that she was staring at everything he was trying to hide. She had spent her entire life learning how to mess with Arthur, which meant she knew every place he hid the things he could not say aloud.

Arthur, overwhelmed by the understanding in her eyes, backed away.

  
“Magic is just a tool people use, Arthur. It’s no different from a sword. Bad and good people can use it indiscriminately.” Morgana said, eyes probing his face carefully for a reaction. Arthur’s eyes fell down to the wood grain of the table, hoping she couldn’t find whatever she was looking for.

“The stars aligned you two for a reason.” Morgana stepped forward, hand landing awkwardly on Arthur’s arm. “I know you want to love him. Destiny has made him _yours_.”

Arthur huffed a humorless laugh through his nose.

_Some destiny_.

Arthur frowned again, casting a look up at Morgana.

  
“I’ve hurt him.” Arthur said.

“Then go fix it.” Morgana replied easily. Arthur pulled at the seam of his glove.

  
“I don’t deserve him.” Arthur said.  
  
“No, probably not.” Morgana agreed. Arthur shot her a reproachful look, and she laughed breezily. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t deserve Gwen either.” The arm on Arthur’s arm felt less awkward as she smiled up at him. “We owe it to them to try our best.”

Arthur tried to smile back. It felt hollow.

  
“Our best.” He echoed. Morgana gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping back, moving to sit in her abandoned chair. She smiled, infuriatingly smug, and said,

“One day at a time.”

~

Arthur tried to not lie to himself whenever possible.

He knew he wasn’t…classically intelligent (Morgana let him know that every single day of his youth, but he’d be damned if he admitted it aloud), but he knew people. He would like to think that he knew how they functioned. Arthur knew how to press people in the way that would make them act accordingly. He was very good at riling Morgana and saying exactly what he needed to to calm his father from some of his more violent tirades. Humans were driven—at least in Arthur’s experience—by three main factors: power, love, and fear.

Arthur would be honest.

Merlin’s magic terrified him.

It was illegal and wrong and _terrifying_.

When Arthur was a child, Uther would stand over him on the training grounds, running him through drills over and over until Arthur could find nothing left to do but cry. His arms weren’t strong enough yet to hold the sword, and by the end of his father’s lessons, Arthur’s muscles felt like the iron the blacksmith would melt—undone, burning, and formless. Uther would punish him with more drills, tenfold, until Arthur couldn’t cry anymore.

  
“Never show your weakness.” Uther would demand, as he pressed the heavy weight of a weapon back into his son’s hands.

The first time Arthur remembered being attacked by magic, he was six years old. Arthur clung to his nurse’s skirts as she begged with the intruder to leave Arthur alone. He threw her across the room with nothing but garbled, twisted, dark words. Arthur screamed.

Uther, after the guards had arrived and run the man through, hugged Arthur. Then, he pushed him away, finger in his face, his own face twisted into a deep scowl.

“Never show your fear to the enemy.” He ordered. Arthur couldn’t look away from the sorcerer’s body behind his father, he remembered. The blood on his rug.

  
The enemy, Uther had called him.  
  
This man.

Magic.

Arthur didn’t know how much magic Merlin could do, or how powerful he was.

But if Merlin could not only resist the Lady Helen’s spell but also loose a chandelier to kill her when she was so powerful, Arthur…didn’t know.

His soulmate was strong.

Powerful.

Less than seventy-two hours ago, Arthur believed he was alone in the world. His soulmate, an average, beautiful man, took one look at Arthur and ran away. Arthur would live, cry, and die alone.

Was Arthur still alone?

Less than seventy-two hours ago, Arthur was unlovable.

Arthur didn’t know if his current reality was better than the one he had despised yesterday.

  
Arthur had a soulmate. His soulmate’s existence was illegal. His soulmate’s existence was punishable by death. His soulmate came back to Arthur anyway. His soulmate saved Arthur from being killed. By magic.

His soulmate was making Arthur choose.

Love or country?

Would Arthur be satisfied if none of this had happened? If Merlin had fled and Arthur had never known his name?

Arthur would like to say “yes,” but his new cursed policy of trying not to lie to himself made it difficult.

And if that weren’t enough, Arthur had to reframe everything he knew about his soulmate. His soulmate ran when he heard Arthur’s title. Prince. Arthur already knew that.

Instead now, Arthur knew that he had run because he was afraid Arthur would…hurt him. Kill him, even.

And he was proven correct. The first instinct Arthur had when confronted with magic was aggression.  
  
Arthur would never hurt his soulmate.  
  
End of discussion, end of thought.

The fact that his soulmate was attached to the magic Arthur had been instructed to destroy erased his instruction.

Uther’s decades of orders and training had been erased in twenty-four hours by a lanky soulmate and a pair of blue eyes.

The thought wanted to make Arthur laugh and cry in equal measure.

“Your name means ‘bravery,’ boy!” Uther had once shouted as Arthur was knocked to the ground. He had made him fight knights older than him by decades, taller than him by a meter.

Fear.

Arthur was born to fight it, to tame it, to use it.

Arthur was a boy of fear: crouching behind his nurse, crying as he was drilled by Uther, yelling at servants because he wanted to feel as powerful as his father, hiding under the covers and wondering what his soulmate would look like—terrified that he would never get to know.

For once, Arthur was tired of pretense.

What was there to fear about a chance love? Of acceptance?

What was there to fear about a criminally thin boy with a silly name and eyes like the depths of a lake?

Arthur wanted to try.

To love. To accept. To be loved. To be accepted.

One day at a time.

~

Arthur knocked on the door to Gaius’s room.

The man himself wasn’t present in his chambers, but Arthur knew exactly where to find what he was looking for.

He supposed the room he was knocking on now wasn’t exactly Gaius’s room anymore, but Merlin’s. After two days of agonizing, Arthur was ready to give his answer.

“I’m almost done, Gaius,” Merlin called through the door, and _god_. His _voice_. This was suddenly too real, a little too close.

It lit a fire under Arthur, and no, he couldn’t do this. Not now. Every arranged thought Arthur had carefully practiced left his head in a rush.

Arthur’s palms started to sweat and his heart began to seize in his chest. But before Arthur could form another thought, his soulmate was there.  
  
Merlin seemed to have a nasty habit of seemingly popping into existence and stealing Arthur’s breath away. Once more, Arthur was left blinking at him, chest hurting because for the third time, he was _real_.

After thinking about him nonstop for days, Merlin’s sudden tangibility was overwhelming.

Merlin seemed equally surprised to see Arthur, eyebrows raising and mouth dropping open.

“Oh…hi.” Merlin said, eyes flicking up past Arthur’s head.

“Gaius isn’t here.” Arthur said dumbly. Merlin was wearing a blue neckerchief with a red shirt today, and Arthur couldn’t stop looking at how bright the colors were.

“Ah.” Merlin replied, shuffling on his feet. They stared at each other.

“Can I…come in?” Arthur gestured past Merlin into his room. Merlin, still holding the door, tightened his grip on the wood.

He stepped aside.

Arthur awkwardly pressed past him into the messy room.

“Dear god, you’ve been here for a week. This is a disaster!” Arthur said automatically as he took in the clothes strewn on every corner. Straw was littered across the floor, and the bedclothes were almost entirely wrestled off the ratty mattress.

  
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Arthur winced. Arthur couldn’t speak to him like that yet; Merlin had shown he was—

“Have you ever not been an absolute—” Merlin snapped, stopping again almost immediately. Arthur turned to face him and he knew that the amusement on his face was poorly disguised.

“I thought you were going to leave.”

“I was going to give you until tonight. I didn’t want to…to leave before I had to.”  
  
“Merlin, I—“  
  
“Wait. Before you say anything, I need to let you know that I’m not going to stop using magic. But. I want to give this a shot. I’ve dreamed about meeting my soulmate since I was a child. My mother used to tell me all kinds of stories.”

“I want this. You. Too. If this is something about you that can’t change, then I’ll…try to understand.”

“Oh, Arthur, I—“  
  
“I can’t promise anything. Magic has been used to hurt everyone around me. People have tried to kill me using it. I will try for you. But I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”

Merlin blinked up at him. Then suddenly, his eyes were once again golden, as golden as the sunbeams in Morgana’s chambers. Molten. Warm. A familiar garbled word, more rhythmic and full of fondness than Arthur remembered, fell from his lips, and in Merlin’s hand, a flower.  
  
Arthur couldn’t deny the tensing of his muscles, how his legs locked and his heartbeat jumped to his ears. He looked at the flower, same as before, in Merlin’s hand. Merlin raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Okay, not that fast,” Arthur said, watching mirth chase its way across Merlin’s face. Merlin shrugged good-naturedly.  
  
“It was worth a try.”

Arthur caught Merlin’s wrist gently in his grip as Merlin tossed the flower onto his bed.  
  
“We need to be discreet around my father.” Arthur said, hoping that his soberness was enough to get the point across. “Both with your magic, and with…us.” Arthur couldn’t look Merlin in the eye, instead looking slightly to the left of his ear, at the cabinet that was swung open. “He’s…traditional, and I won’t let anything happen to you. I understand that you’re taking on a lot with me, and if you want to leave Camelot, I understand. I want you to know that as soon as I’m king, I would—“  
  
Merlin placed a hand over Arthur’s on his arm, silencing him immediately.

  
“Woah, there.” Merlin said, and Arthur found himself unable to look away any longer as he flicked his eyes to meet Merlin’s. He found nothing but resolution in his bright eyes, try as he might. “I’ve saved your life once already, I know you’re a handful.”

  
“Merlin—“  
  
“No, I know.” Merlin met Arthur’s stern gaze head-on with his own determination. “I’m here as long as you still want me. Being with me won’t be a walk in the park either.”  
  
Merlin’s eyes shadowed, and he worried his lip as he dropped Arthur’s hands. Insecurity lingered in the air between them.

“Why did you run?” Arthur asked. He needed to know this—to hear this out loud. Merlin didn’t turn his steady blue gaze away from him as he said,

  
“I didn’t want to force you to choose.”

Arthur closed his eyes, overcome. For the first time in what felt like months, Arthur could breathe again. He opened his eyes.

“You’re an idiot.” Arthur said.

  
“What?” Merlin squawked, stepping back. “I am _not_ —“

Arthur closed the distance in between them in a second, hand reaching out to still Merlin’s head as he pressed a kiss to his cheek. His lips burned as he moved away, removing his hand. He was close enough to Merlin for their chests to touch when they breathed. The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken meaning.  
  
Arthur would have thought Merlin dead with how still he turned. He blinked owlishly back at Arthur. Oh god. Did Arthur go too far—? What if he ruined this when Merlin had just forgiven him? This was so—

  
“You missed, dollophead.” Merlin said, stone-faced. Arthur spluttered.

“I—You—It was meant to be a gesture, you cad!” He cried as he watched Merlin sputter into undignified giggles. Arthur felt mortified down to the tips of his toes. “I’m just going to _mmph_ —!”

His breath, along with every coherent thought Arthur had accrued since his birth, left Arthur in a second as Merlin leant forward and kissed him. Color exploded behind his eyes in every possible color. Vibrant greens, warm pinks, sandy browns. And above all—the blue of the sky at the horizon. Arthur felt swallowed, floored, enveloped in crushing emotion as his soulmate’s chapped lips pressed against his own.  
  
It wasn’t a physically perfect kiss, the kind Arthur had secretly imagined he and his soulmate would potentially share, but it was theirs. This was Merlin kissing Arthur and it was the culmination of every single lonely night Arthur had ever spent. It was their apotheosis.

Just before the last of Arthur’s brain function left him, he knew he had to ask something. One last important question.

“Wait,” Arthur said, pulling back from Merlin’s warmth. Merlin made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat. “What on earth were you doing in Camelot to begin with? Are you so empty-headed that you forgot about the magic ban?”  
  
Merlin flushed, a pale pink crawling up his neck and curling over his ears. Arthur watched in mild fascination. He re-shelved the immediate thought that he wanted to see how far Merlin’s blush went under the collar of his weird neckerchief. _Not now, later_.

“Ah. Um…destiny?” Merlin said, but it sounded like a question as his shoulders raised. Arthur could practically hear his own blood explode in his veins.

“You really are an idiot!” Arthur cried, unable to stop himself from shaking Merlin’s bony shoulders. He needed to speak some sense into this man before he sent Arthur to an early grave due to a heart attack.  
  
Merlin’s responding laugh sounded like triumph and, as he pulled Arthur into another kiss, tasted like light. Things weren’t resolved between them—they still had a long road ahead of them, Arthur knew. They still had things to say, things to tell each other.

But the half finally knew what being whole meant.

  
It meant being loved.

It meant blue.

  
Arthur tried to remain cross as Merlin’s nose hit his own a little too hard as he moved in for another kiss around his large, goofy grin.

_My soulmate is a clumsy idiot,_ Arthur thought, giddy. _His soulmate_. Who was here and wanted to love him.

Arthur fought against the tears threatening to spill behind his closed eyelids. He was a great deal too manly and strong to be that weak.

Arthur really wasn’t good at lying to himself.

He was still going to kick destiny’s arse, though.

Just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you had told me that when i wrote the first part of this fic in 2014ish (before i even thought about making an ao3 account) that people would actually read this and like it, you would have blown me away! and to think, i had WAY more to say about this fic than i originally thought. i thought this fic was a 2k angst fest, but at last! we have finished at OVER 20k words!!! like,,,what??
> 
> so thank you so, so much for everyone who's been commenting and reading this story, and thank you for liking it! if you ended up enjoying it, please leave me a comment or a kudos--y'all literally make my day!
> 
> as you can imagine, life hasn't been too easy since i last updated this bad boy in april, so thank you all so, so much for being so patient! i hope that the end of your fic was to your liking! pls don't be mad, but i had this written in august, but could not for the LIFE of me work out about ten lines of dialogue and have worked it and reworked it since. 
> 
> thank you as well to my beta, jay, who answered my text at 10:37 p.m. and proofread this in a witch's hat on their sofa. friends. they will get you through anything.
> 
> did i stare at a candle for thirty minutes so i could think about how to describe flame for that Yearning Content? yes. 
> 
> last thing, i have a tumblr now! tomsotb.tumblr.com! come yell at me over there! if i can figure out how to imbed that link, i will do so, but i am a technology grandma--no promises.
> 
> have a great rest of your week!


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